A Plague Upon Les Inseparables
by Snow-Glory
Summary: Sometimes we feel as though we are more of an annoyance to everyone than we really are. Of course, with our four musketeers, things always escalate before they are talked about. Takes place after Commodities but before TGS. This is my entry for the September Fete des Mousquetaires theme "Annoyance."


**This is my entry for the** **Fete des Mousquetaires theme of annoyance. This is also a prompt from Pri who wanted insecure d'Artagnan with a toothache and some brotherly love. I am mainly an Aramis writer so naturally, this ended up a little more Aramis centred. Even though it deviated slightly from what they wanted, I hope they like it.**

* * *

 _Thrust_

 _Block_

 _Sidestep_

 _Stumble_

 _Fall_

"No!" Athos shouted. "Again!"

D'Artagnan sighed and picked himself up on off the ground. He assumed the stance Athos had shown him, but not before wiping his brow of the sweat dripping off of him. This training session wasn't going well. He was tired and beginning to bruise in places he hadn't realized a person could bruise. Time and time again he was being bested by Athos and it was becoming very embarrassing.

"You are losing focus, d'Artagnan. Use your head, you are missing the openings I am giving you."

D'Artagnan hissed as the heat of Athos' blade nearly drew a thin line down his cheek.

"Case in point," Athos drawled. " _Pay. Attention_."

D'Artagnan growled and swung his sword in a circular motion while advancing on Athos. He could feel anger at his mentor stirring in his belly. _How dare this man claim he wasn't paying attention._ He lunged, thrusting his sword forward, twisting at the last second to avoid Athos' answering thrust. He landed on the ground in another graceless heap.

"Showmanship is Aramis' forte, pup. It takes a certain amount of finesse to pull that move off," Porthos laughed from across the garrison. The man was seated at the large table that was unofficially known as the Inseparables table. "You have been working the lad since dawn, Athos, give him a break."

"Not a pup," d'Artagnan grumbled as he picked himself up off the ground and dusted off his doublet.

Athos ignored d'Artagnan's grumbling and turned to Porthos. "I suppose you believe you could do a better job?" he drawled.

"Not in swordplay," Porthos shrugged. "Aramis said my arm was not ready for anything strenuous yet," he said. "I am under strict orders to observe only and in my observation, he is deserving of a break."

"I just want the boy to be able to handle himself in future battles. He spends more time on affairs of the heart than he does with his head."

D'Artagnan bristled at Athos' words. He'd had enough of being schooled in front of all the other cadets and seasoned Musketeers. Athos had no right! That was when he noticed that Athos was facing away from him so that he could speak to Porthos. D'Artagnan saw the opening as if it was a gift from God himself. Athos wasn't paying attention, he'd forgotten his protege. With a howl d'Artagnan raced forward, sword drawn, prepared to vanquish his enemy.

D'Artagnan would come to realize later that believing Athos wasn't aware of his surroundings was a grave error. Whether it was the man's years of experience or not, Athos spun at the last moment and met d'Artagnan's sword in a clang. D'Artagnan growled again and let the anger he was feeling wash over him. Pushing harder against Athos' sword he shoved him away, surprised when the man actually stumbled backwards a step or two. He turned to Porthos with a shit eating grin only to find the man smirking back at him knowingly.

"Good job, pup," Porthos shouted gleefully. "You almost had him. Next time a battle cry might be avoided in favour of the stealthy approach yeah?"

"What are you-" d'Artagnan was interrupted as Athos' fist hit his jawline in a crushing blow. D'Artagnan once more went down, only this time he smashed his newly punched jaw into his sword pommel. He lay stunned and panting on the ground, pain lancing up and down his jawline.

"You let your emotions overcome you in a real battle and you are dead. Stop trying to impress Porthos and focus on the task at hand," Athos shouted.

"I thought this was a sword fight, who brings fists to a sword fight?" D'Artagnan shot back.

Athos shook his head and held out his hand for d'Artagnan to pull himself up with. "The bad guys do. How is your jaw?"

"It hurts." He swayed for a moment once he was standing. He felt Athos' hand tighten on his arm, but d'Artagnan's pride was injured and he shook the man's hand off. He was still simmering with anger over the situation, which he knew he shouldn't be. But still... He was made to look like a fool today and it was something he didn't appreciate. Not one bit.

Athos had not meant to make the boy feel as though he was failing today. In reality, he believed the boy had something in him that could make him one of the best Musketeers in the regiment. Likely the best musketeer they would ever have, but unless d'Artagnan could let go of that stubborn pride he would never excel. Athos knew he was being hard on d'Artagnan, but he also didn't know any other way to be. He could almost hear Aramis' lecture now. _Athos, he looks up to you, you are his mentor. His hero. You are wasting his potential with your attitude._

Athos sighed _,_ "Come over to the table and let me take a look."

"I do not need coddling, I am not a child."

Athos sighed again and looked at Porthos for help.

"Yeah, I will get Aramis," Porthos said, already walking towards the infirmary.

"Look, d'Artagnan," Athos began. Maybe he could explain his point of view to him.

"Save it."

D'Artagnan swayed again, saved from becoming reacquainted with the ground only by Athos' arm wrapped around his waist. This time he was concerned, had he given himself a concussion somehow when he fell? He didn't know enough about them to make an informed decision, but he had not hit his head, so what was going on? He decided to admit defeat and allow Athos to guide him towards the inseparables table.

Every step he took was agony, pain racing from his jaw and into his neck and head. It made him wince and despite every effort not to, as he sat down, he moaned. He could feel Athos' hand run through his hair, presumably brushing it out of the way as it hung in his eyes.

"D'Artagnan?" He heard Athos ask. He found he was unable to answer at that moment. It felt like his jaw was locking up and his teeth were ready to fall out. His eyes were now throbbing so he squeezed them shut barely noticing when a tear slipped its way down his cheek.

Vaguely, he heard footsteps racing toward him, sliding a little as they came to a harsh stop next to him. Cool fingers were pressed against his temple and trailed down his jawline. It took everything in him not to cry out in agony. He must have betrayed the amount of pain he was in because the fingers were snatched away quickly.

"Athos, what happened?" He heard Aramis ask.

"They were practicing swordplay," Porthos said when Athos failed to comment.

D'Artagnan heard Aramis snort in derision. "If it was swordplay then how come our young friend here is in pain near his jaw?"

"I hit him," Athos responded quietly. He berated himself for hitting the young man so hard. It was true, they were merely training, why had he decided to hit d'Artagnan?

Aramis nodded, "Ahhh I see, the bad guys do enjoy playing dirty. Once, just once, I would love to meet a gentleman of a bad guy."

D'Artagnan snorted, sending tendrils of pain spiking up his temple. He wanted to comment on Aramis' foolishness in hoping for a bad guy with redeeming qualities but found his jaw uncooperative.

"Do not try to speak my young friend, it seems something has been compromised. Let us get you to the infirmary to have a look," Aramis said in his most soothing voice.

Content that at least someone was going to figure out what was wrong with him, he let go of consciousness.

"Ahh catch him!" Porthos shouted. "He's out."

* * *

It was quiet and still when he woke up. Sunlight wafted through the half-shuttered windows casting its light on the floor. It seemed to be late afternoon by how long the shadows on the floor were.

"Having a rough day I hear?" Aramis asked startling d'Artagnan who hadn't known there was anyone around.

When no answer was forthcoming from the boy Aramis continued to fill the sullen silence. He fussed about the room, pulling jars down from shelves and linens from cupboards. He assembled them on a tray and set them down next to d'Artagnan on the bed.

"I am not sure when I became the official Musketeer Medic. Perhaps it is my penchant for reading and devouring all knowledge. Athos will tell you that it's because it is rare that I flinch so I am the perfect person to handle sudden injuries. Porthos will tell you it's because of my straight, perfect lines. Did I ever tell you that I helped my mother with her sewing? None of the ladies could make a straight line so I was often the favoured child to fix their garments."

Aramis came to sit on the stool across from d'Artagnan but at the last second spun back towards the cupboard. He pulled out two mugs and a decanter of something dark and amber coloured. Setting them down on the table next to the bed, he helped d'Artagnan into a seated position. Then he poured a generous amount of the bourbon into one of the tumblers and handed to the boy.

"Drink that up before I start," Aramis instructed. "I have some tarragon for numbing the pain, but I need to see the damage before I do much else."

D'Artagnan nodded and swallowed the bourbon in one gulp. "Why are you helping me?" He asked as Aramis filled his tumbler once more.

Aramis frowned at his question and then shrugged as if it was the simplest answer. "You are our brother and you are hurt, why would I not help? Now, swish the bourbon in your mouth to clear away some of the blood."

D'Artagnan complied and then swallowed the rest of the liquor. He was already feeling the effects of the bourbon and frowned. He felt a little fuzzy around the edges and a pleasant warmth was spreading through his limbs. "How strong is this?"

Aramis chuckled, finding it amusing how swift his friend had succumbed to the bourbon. If he chose to spend any more time with him and his brothers he would quickly find his tolerance improved.

"Well, I borrowed some of the finer stuff from Athos' room. If you don't say anything I won't say anything, yes?" Aramis smiled.

Content that he d'Artagnan was not going to rat him out to Athos, Aramis poured a dollop of the bourbon onto a cloth. Aramis tapped the unhurt side of d'Artagnan's cheek. "Open up," he ordered, waiting until d'Artagnan complied. "Now, I want to clean the area and see what's going on inside. I am only a medic, not a doctor, you understand? Judging by your pain, it could be that you cracked your jaw, in which case, is out of the range of my abilities."

D'Artagnan nodded as best as he could with Aramis' fingers dabbing at his wound. Was it possible that his jaw cracked in the force of Athos' blow? Or was it the smashing into the pommel of the sword that sealed his current fate? All he remembered was one moment walking with Athos to the table and the next lying on a bed in the infirmary. While it was only vague, hazy memory, he was certain Athos had guided him to the table before he passed out.

One thing he did know was that his embarrassment was profound. What a fool he'd been in letting his anger overcome his judgment like that. His father would be so disappointed in him. Just the thought that he had gotten himself hurt in front of all the recruits made his cheeks colour in shame. Athos was the best swordsman in all France. The man was so gracious in trying to teach him when he could be passed off to a lesser ranking musketeer. The least d'Artagnan could do was attempt to benefit from it, but nooooo... instead he screwed it all up. Since the day he walked into the garrison he had been a screw-up. An annoyance to all these better-trained men.

"Stop it," Aramis said, breaking d'Artagnan's silent brooding. "Berating yourself like this won't solve the underlying issue. Believe me, I should know this, I've made many errors in my life. Still do, actually."

D'Artagnan tried to pretend that what Aramis said didn't shock him, but he failed. Add that to the list of recent failures and d'Artagnan was not having a good day. "I find that hard to believe," he finally said.

Aramis grinned but offered up no explanation, which made d'Artagnan's mind swirl with questions.

"There is no way you were ever as bad as I am," d'Artagnan responded.

"Well now, what would make you think that," Aramis asked. He dropped the bloody rag into a basket for washing near the bed and pressed his fingers into the side of d'Artagnan's face. He palpated the jawline, ignoring the younger man's hisses of pain. "I was far younger than you when I joined the regiment and besides, we are all beginners at some point in our lives. Don't be so quick to master the skills required to be a musketeer, take your time and learn them thoroughly."

"But..."

Aramis finished his inspection of the jaw, satisfied that nothing seemed broken. "No buts, if you race to learn something before you _understand_ it, you will fail every time. You cannot run before you learn how to walk, just as you cannot best Athos in swordplay until you learn _how_ to best him."

D'Artagnan looked up at Aramis, cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. On one hand, he was grateful that Aramis deemed him worthy enough to offer this advice. But he also felt as though he was being chastised.

Aramis smiled and handed d'Artagnan another glass of bourbon. "Do not guzzle this one down. Sip it while I explain what has happened. Now," he began once d'Artagnan brought the tumbler to his lips. "Your jaw appears not be broken but is deeply bruised. Athos' fist can claim that injury, but your one tooth at the very far back is cracked in half. Half of the tooth is impacted and the other is hanging loosely by a piece of skin. I have no clue how you managed that."

"I broke a tooth?" D'artagnan exclaimed. He almost lost grip of the tumbler as his hands began to tremble. "But… how… I mean… you aren't going to send me to the teeth extractor are you?"

"Yes, right in half. It is the reason for the pain all along your jaw. I mean Athos' punch contributes to that, but the amount of pain you are in is purely because of that tooth. I still don't understand how you managed to crack it."

"I fell onto my sword pommel," d'Artagnan responded, cradling his jaw with one hand.

Aramis nodded. He tapped the side of d'Artagnan's mouth again, indicating he wanted it opened. "Well, that explains how you got your injury."

Aramis peered in d'Artagnan's mouth and tutted. He could pull the tooth out, though he was not skilled in this sort of thing. There were so many things that could go wrong. But since the tooth was already cracked and part of it hanging out there might be the chance this was an easy fix. He could also send the boy to the market and have it pulled out by someone else. Judging by his patient's shaking, however, he did not think it would be wise. There was also a fear in d'Artagnan's eyes that he did not like. Knowing the reputation of the extractors in Paris, the boy would come back with far fewer teeth. As far as Aramis was concerned, that would not do.

"Aramis, answer me, do I have to go to a teeth extractor?"

"No d'Artagnan, if you allow me to, I will attempt to pull the shards out of your mouth. You are fortunate, the tooth that has split looks to be one of your teeth of wisdom. They often arrive late and are the easiest to break. You will not miss it at all."

D'Artagnan nodded so fast the room spun and then tilted. He didn't notice it was himself nearly falling off the side of the bed as the cause for the room tilting. The bourbon had done its job making him inebriated.

Aramis had to move fast to catch him before he fell off the table, cursing himself for not paying attention. "I have some tarragon paste that I will rub into the skin around your tooth. It should numb the pain temporarily, though I suppose you already cannot feel much."

"My pride still hurts," d'Artagnan said with a snort. "Still can't believe that Athos punched me and I fell on my sword! Everyone must be laughing at me now."

Aramis sighed and sat back down beside d'Artagnan. "I can assure you that everyone has been where you are now. Albeit not with broken teeth, but with all sorts of other injuries. The first day I tried to teach Porthos how to shoot with the musket he missed. The shot ricocheted off the wall behind the target and hit Athos' decanter of wine. The decanter exploded and I spent the next few hours extracting shards of it from Athos' face. It's why the targets for the muskets are in the back training yard now."

D'Artagnan grinned, highly amused by the story. The thought that Porthos and the others had rocky starts eased something in him. "That is funny," he slurred. He swallowed the rest of the bourbon in the tumbler and held it out for Aramis to refill.

"Oh, you have had quite enough my friend. You should be ready for that tooth to come out now." Aramis took the cup from him and placed it on the tray on the bed.

"He's worried you know," Aramis said. He swiped his finger in the jar of tarragon paste and spread it around d'Artagnan's tooth. Once done he wiped his fingers on a rag and picked up a pair of pliers from the tray.

D'Artagnan sighed, "I don't know why he is worried, there is nothing to be worried about. Not concerning me anyways."

"Well that is silly to believe, why should he not be worried?" Aramis paused and looked at d'Artagnan. "It is easy for everyone to assume that Athos a ruthless mentor but if you get past his gruff exterior he is quite nice. Don't tell him I said that either."

"That is so easy for you to say, Aramis, you are one of them."

"Them?" Aramis asked, truly puzzled about what d'Artagnan meant.

"Les Inseparables. They all call you that, did you know? I don't want to be his apprentice, I want to be his brother," D'Artagnan blurted out.

"Then be his brother," Aramis responded. He was unsure of what else to say to d'Artagnan. He had already been under the assumption that the boy was one of them. Aramis already considered the boy somewhat of a younger brother. At least he thought he had, though in light of the boy's insecurities, obviously, he had not. Making a mental note to speak to Athos and Porthos about this later, Aramis shushed any attempt at further conversation. "It is time to remove that tooth, how is your jaw feeling?"

D'Artagnan huffed, not happy to have the conversation cut off in such an abrupt manner. He turned his face away from Aramis, fighting to hold back the emotions he was feeling. It hurt to be shut down like he was just a mere annoyance to this man. Having had voiced his innermost insecurities d'Artagnan expected something... well... more than what he received.

"D'Artagnan, look at me." Aramis gently took his chin and turned his face back to face him. "Whatever you are thinking, do not, I can assure you it is not as dire as you are making it out to be. This is not a conversation to be had when one is drunk and in pain. Understand?"

D'Artagnan winced as Aramis grip on his jaw became more uncomfortable, "My jaw still aches."

Aramis snatched his hand away. "I think you could do with a bit more tarragon then."

"That stuff tastes disgusting," d'Artagnan groaned after Aramis slathered more around his tooth. "My stomach doesn't feel well."

"Tarragon is not the best tasting of some of the herbs I have worked with. Your stomach ache is likely the result of the bourbon, tarragon and the stress of the pain all mixed together. In short, I believe you will live."

"That makes me feel so much better," d'Artagnan drawled.

"See," Aramis said smiling. "You are well on your way to becoming Athos' brother, you sounded exactly like him just now."

Aramis picked up the pliers and looked for permission from d'Artagnan to move forward. Once received, he gripped the shard of tooth with his pliers and pulled. It came free with a squelching sound that had d'Artagnan's skin take on a greenish pallor. Aramis had only a second to leap backwards before d'Artagnan turned to the side and expelled the contents of his stomach.

"You'll be cleaning that up once you are sober enough to do so," Aramis stated in disgust. Though it was only mock disgust, he had seen much worse than this in his years of being a soldier. He picked up a bottle of his strongest alcohol he used for cleaning wounds and turned to the still green faced d'Artagnan. "Now for the cleaning, are you ready? This is not going to be pleasant."

"As opposed to how pleasant pulling my tooth was?"

"Worse, do not swallow this, it is very strong stuff."

* * *

The bucket of water Athos forced his head into was a balm to his throbbing head. The water was ice cold against his raging hot skin and brought his headache to a dull ache. The alcohol he had just spent an eternity emptying his stomach from left a sour taste in his mouth. D'Artagnan remembered Aramis shouting as he fell off the bed on onto the unforgiving ground earlier. He felt a pang of regret for startling the man. He had not heeded Aramis' warning about not drinking the alcohol he used as a cleanser. If Aramis wasn't annoyed with him before, he surely would be now. At least the herbs had finally done their job and numbed the pain from his jaw. There were some small mercies left in the world.

Athos kept his head under water for a few more seconds before hauling him out. He sat the younger man down on the ground and brushed the wet hair from his still closed eyes.

"Next time listen to Aramis please, you gave him quite the scare. He thought he killed you," Athos said. "Are you going to open your eyes and get up or do I have to carry you like a damsel to your bed?"

"No I can walk," d'Artagnan responded. He peeked one eye open just a sliver, relieved to see a blurry Athos in a darkened room. He supposed Athos and his penchant for drinking would know just the thing to keep a hangover at bay. He stood up, swaying only a little bit and hobbled his way to the bed. "Is Aramis very angry at me?"

Athos shook his head. He picked up the bucket and moved it off to the side so it was no longer a tripping hazard. Aramis would murder him if there were any more injuries inflicted on d'Artagnan today. "No," Athos finally said. "He is angry with me."

"That is absurd! What would he be angry with you about?" D'Artagnan argued. "If I was a better student I would have known not to gloat until I knew for sure I had won the battle."

Athos sighed and sat down on the bed beside his protege. D'Artagnan was not entirely wrong in his assessment, but it was not as his teacher where Athos had failed. D'Artagnan was going to be the best of them all, of that Athos had no doubt. The boy was doing very well despite having very little training as a fighter in his younger years. All it would take is some patience and discipline, both of which he would learn as he matured.

"He is angry because he feels as though I have been keeping you at arm's length from us."

"No, Athos, you have been exactly as you-"

"Hush d'Artagnan, listen to me," Athos interrupted. "The night of the fire I confessed my sins and Aramis and Porthos do not know any of what I told you. Since that night I have been holding back from you, venting my anger over it into your training. I apologize for that."

"Oh," d'Artagnan responded softly.

"I know that I have been harder on you than any other, but I see something in you that I have not seen in a long time," Athos continued. "Rest assured that you have earned my brotherhood and respect. Anyone that would enter a garrison full of elite soldiers, threaten its second in command and live to tell the tale is worth respect. You earned the title of my brother when you stayed to clear my name."

"I did?"

"You earned Porthos' respect and brotherhood when you stayed to free my name and save me from death. Aramis, however, does not let anyone close easily."

"I do not have either from Aramis?" D'Artagnan asked. He felt his heart plummet as Athos spoke. Never in a million years would he have expected it to be Aramis the one he would struggle to earn respect from. The man was the friendliest of the Musketeers, always willing to lend a hand or offer kind words.

"I believe you already have been given all that from Aramis, but as for being inseparable from us? That isn't for either Porthos and I to decide, that is Aramis' decision."

"Why Aramis'?" D'Artagnan asked.

Athos patted d'Artagnan on the back and urged him to lay down on the bed. "Something tragic happened to him several years ago. Porthos and I were the only ones who he allowed to see the cracks in the mask he wears. He is the one that keeps us close, the one that binds us together as more than brothers. If we lost him then we lose the very heart of our group."

"What happened? He's okay now right?" D'Artagnan asked. He was more than a little concerned about what Athos was saying.

"He is fine, he has his bad moments like every one of us do, but he is well. I will not be the one to tell you the story, that is for him to tell you when he feels ready to. You have already made great strides towards becoming one of us. Now rest, we can continue this conversation when you are sober."

D'Artagnan highly doubted that he was any closer to being included now than he was earlier. But Athos was right, he was tired and had no more strength to discuss this. He nodded and closed his eyes, falling asleep almost immediately.

* * *

 **Weeks later - Court of Miracles**

* * *

"I intend to go back in and find him," Athos stated as he flipped the knife in his hand.

D'Artagnan couldn't believe it. They had just walked into the Court of Miracles and received an unfriendly if not menacing warning and Athos wanted to go back in. And what for?

"Porthos was drunk," d'Artagnan said quietly. "I am sure it was an accident… What if he is guilty?"

He had barely uttered the words before he was shoved against a wall. Aramis was looking at him angrily and holding him firmly against the wagon. "This is Porthos, you understand?"

The words were spoken in anger and if d'Artagnan was not imagining it, a bit of desperation and admiration. He had been trying so hard in the recent weeks to understand Aramis better, especially in light of the return of Marsac. D'Artagnan now knew what skeletons tormented his friend and had accepted it and moved on. He felt like the respect and brotherhood he was desperate for, from Athos, Porthos and Aramis was finally being received. He was finally understanding that he was not an annoyance to his brothers, that they only wanted the best from him and for him. So, of course, he would ruin it by questioning Porthos' innocence in front of Aramis.

D'Artagnan looked straight into Aramis' eyes meeting his anger with determination and a bit of apology. "Yeah," he finally said.

It must have been the correct thing to surrender to because Arami swiftly let go of him and patted him on the chest before walking away.

"Welcome to Les Inseparables, d'Artagnan," Athos said smirking.

"What, why would you say that? I just destroyed all progress made with him."

"You questioned Porthos in front of Aramis and lived, I would say that makes you one of us. Do not attempt to come between Porthos and Aramis though, even I cannot break that bond. Now, go to the wren and see what information you can find."

With that Athos vanished into the crowd. D'Artagnan turned around to find Aramis waiting for him with a large grin on his face. "Now that we have parted from Athos," Aramis began. "I must tell you of what he accused Porthos of when I first met him. You must promise, of course, to not speak a word of this to Athos."

As they walked the remainder of the way out of the Court d'Artagnan could barely refrain from grinning. He was finally part of these men as brothers and it felt good.


End file.
